The Daily Life of a Milletian
by Koudian
Summary: What does being a Milletian mean? Follow the story of a clueless Sixteen year old Milletian and see where it takes him!


A blacksmith stands before his anvil, hammering away at the boiling iron rod. With every swing of the hammer, the loud sound of striking metal echoes about the creaky shop. The blacksmith, however, is known for his carelessness. When his attention returns to the object he was fortifying, he finds that it has snapped perfectly in half, much like a small branch in the playground of a children's school. Frustrated with himself, he throws his tool behind him, hoping it would land in one of the boxes in his rusty little store. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

When Ferghus looks behind him, he doesn't see any boxes. He sees the big, wooden gates of his notoriously old shop. Ferghus approaches the river, running across the front of his shop, to retrieve his ruined hammer from the flowing stream. Much to his demise, the river waits for nobody.

The tool flows down the stream, violently disturbing the small school of fishes swimming beside it. Metallic bumps and crashes are made when the hammer comes in contact with the hard stone below the rushing water. Ferghus follows slowly behind.

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><p><strong><span>Chapter One:<span>** _Two days after arriving._

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><p><em>It sure is boring here… Milletian? What does that mean?<em>

The leaves sway; the birds sing. A sixteen year old boy rests under the cool shade, with his back propped up against the bark of an aged pine tree. As the river flows gently down the stream, a harmonious vibe lingered in the air. The well trimmed grass from below him acts like a fluffy mattress. With his eyes closed, the soothing melody could be enjoyed at its fullest. Suddenly, a loud racket of rushing footsteps could be heard from the other side of the wooden bridge. The boy squinted, cracking an eye open from the ruckus.

**_?:_**_ "Hey kid!, It's an emergency!"_

The tired boy opens his eyes. He rubs them a few times before he regains composure. The blacksmith stands in front of him, clearly out of breath, and asks for a favor.

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><p>With a new quest entrusted to me, I chase after the flowing stream. Due to his fatigue, he decided to stay behind. I find myself maneuvering around large boulders and scaling slopes. Not long after, I arrive myself in the outskirts of town. This might be trouble for me; I'm not familiar with this area at all.<p>

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><p>The fabric from below my knees finally began to dry up; the water took a noticeable toll on my cheap clothing's durability. It's still pretty moist and sticks to my skin, creating an uneasy feeling in my leg. By the time Tir Chronial's rolling wheat hills come back into view, it was already a tick past noon. The blacksmith stood at the place we met and glanced back at me.<p>

As I come up to him, he greets me with a blank expression. His red eyes roll across my midsection, inspecting my empty hands for his hammer. With his arms folded upon each other, he begins to speak in a disgruntled tone.

**_The Blacksmith:_** _"Did you get it?"_

I stick my hand into my item bag and pull out a Blacksmith's hammer. Its head is a dark shade of grey, there's a small coat of rust surrounding doesn't look like it was cared for properly… But then again, if it was cared for properly, it wouldn't have ended up in the river.

**_The Blacksmith:_** "Oh, that's it!"

I return the hammer to him, he looks pleased. The Blacksmith inspects the hammer closely before putting it away. He returns his attention back to me.

**_The Blacksmith:_** "That reminds me, boy. I never seen you here before, who are you?"

I introduce myself. I met a pretty girl who claimed to be the overseer of the "Soul Stream" two days ago; she told me that I was a "Milletian".

**_The Blacksmith:_** "So your name is "Eilandor, and you're a Milletian?"

**_Eilandor:_** "Yes."

Even though I'm a bit confused as to what a "Milletian" means and why I turned out to be one, I try to explain the best way that I could.

**_The Blacksmith:_** "Oh, I see…"

**_Ferghus:_** "My name is Ferghus; I'm the blacksmith in this town. If you ever need anything, come and visit me at my shop."

I would give more information about my background, but in all honesty, anything I try to think up of draws a blank. I don't remember anything about my past life.

**_Eilandor:_** "Okay, thanks!"

**_Ferghus:_** "Speaking of people visiting, Caitlin from the Grocery store was looking for yo-"

Ferghus' voice trails off into silence. A cold wind slams harshly into my back; I recoil as a single drip of sweat drops from my forehead. I make the sudden realization that **I'M LATE FOR MY JOB!**

And so, Ferghus and I quickly exchange our goodbyes. I dash towards the main square of Tir Chronial, hoping for forgiveness on my second day at the job.

So this is the daily life of a Milletian!

To be continued.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Hello!  
>This is my first time writing a serious fanfiction, please follow me.<p>

"Eilandor" is not based on an actual player or character in Mabinogi. Any similar names are purely coincidences.


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